A Generation's Difference
Loved your analysis. I saw the Okamoto version recently but haven’t seen the Uchida. I quite agree with you regarding the generation differences in Japanese directors. The former were more concerned with character development whereas the latter depended more on shock value.
You also made an interesting point about the in-between generation of directors like Kurosawa. I wonder if Kobayashi would also be included in this generation because I found his Samurai Rebellion a much more mature handling of samurai angst almost to the limit of madness, compared to Sword of Doom; although I agree that the samurai characters and their motives are very different in the two films.
The generational difference in Japanese cinema is some of the most apparent I’ve seen in any kind of cinema. In Tokyo Twilight, the abortion ( I felt) was treated as more socially unacceptable and was a major clue to the key of Akiko. Jump forward three years to Oshima’s Cruel Story of Youth and the abortion in that film is treated entirely differently. The abortion is part of character development yes, but the approach is so cold it is quite shocking.
The thing I had to get used to with Ozu was that his characters don’t often openly tell you what’s on their mind, such things are left to reactions or certain types of movements ( I hear talk of Setsuko Hara wrapping her finger in string quite a bit.). If one looks at the New Wave films characters often express feelings openly and sometimes with violent action (How many Oshima films don’t have rape in them?).
I also feel as if the younger generation wanted to express their distaste with past generations and the explosiveness of their characters solidifies that. It’s quite a change to have a calm patriarch in an Ozu film and then have a violent, abusive one in Oshima’s The Ceremony.
I’ll have to think on this some more…..
“The former were more concerned with character development whereas the latter depended more on shock value.”
I wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘shock value,’ because I think to some extent every generation reacts against previous ones (Ozu, Naruse, Shimazu and the Shochiku masters actually despised the Nikkatsu long-take, long-shot aesthetic, prevalent in the works of Uchida and Mizoguchi, when they were young).
I’d say it’s just how one sees the world, which brings me here:
“I wonder if Kobayashi would also be included in this generation…”
Kobayashi made his first film in 1952, but he was already 36 at this point. He was born in 1916. Kurosawa and Kinoshita were born in 1910 and 1912 respectively. Okamoto was born in 1924 (who, again, isn’t normally placed in the same breath as the following), Imamura in 1926, Oshima in 1932 and Yoshida in 1933.
It’s only a 10-15 year gap, but it means quite a bit in terms of Japanese history. Kurosawa, Kinoshita and Kobayashi all lived their childhood in the liberal, modernist Taisho era. The new wave generation all lived their childhood in the repressive early-Showa and WWII era. This gap brings on a different understanding of their home country. This is the important part of understanding how generations see their world. They lived through the same events, but their understanding of them is different.
The ‘new wave’ grew up in an era that was fraught with almost nothing but repression, first by the militarists, then by the occupying army, then by the older generation’s cinema, as they saw it.
This becomes important in these film’s specifically because they don’t separate content, or even level of violence. Okamotot’s is more realistic, but Uchida’s is no less violent or shocking in parts. The separation is in the understanding of that content. In Uchida’s film Ryunnosuke acts upon this world, in Okamoto’s he is acted upon. So, even though, superficially it looks like Uchida’s is the more externalized and Okamoto’s the more internalized, in reality Ryunnosuke remains vague and difficult in Uchida, while the brooding, somber nihilism inherent in Okamoto’s understanding of this character becomes the tone of the film itself. An outward expression of his internalized world.
Uchida downplays the importance of this conflict. We know the outcome just from looking at Ryunnosuke’s opponent’s face and movements. It is an unimportant detail. Okamoto ramps up this portion of the film. It is deadly important to know who Ryunnoksuke is in combat because that’s the only time he reveals himself outwardly (and the calm cinematography outside of the combat scenes is countered in these scenes by the almost harsh, montage style cuts).
Basically, what I’m saying is what Ben. is saying. That the approach of these generation’s is just in opposites, mainly. Naruse was once described by Kurosawa as a raging river with a calm surface, but it could easily be said of Imamura that he is essentially the opposite; raging on the surface, with a calmness deep within; the nearly silent last forty minutes of Ballad of Narayama, for example, expressing both at the same time, or the determined, centered females that make up the majority of his filmography exemplify that perfectly, too.
The difference’s are what make them all interesting filmmakers.
Excellent analysis, the different stylistic approaches are really striking. The generation gap you mention is definitely relevant, also in terms of influences since the deliberately fragmented editing style of the Nouvelle Vague wasn’t around yet when Uchida made his film, but has without a doubt been seen Okamoto whose version relates to other Japanese films made around that time. One could go so far to state that directors like him wanted to disarm the “outdated” cinema of the previous war generation by fragmenting it and increasing its pace, similar attempts could be seen all around the world in the 1960s. So far I’ve only seen Okamoto’s version, but I’m intrigued to check out more Uchida. His “A Fugitive from the Past” has been a wonderful crime drama, though quite different in terms of style compared to this earlier work.
It’s interesting that you note long takes as I’ve noticed them in both Oshima’s and Imamura’s films. I recall a particularly violent knife-murder ( The one in the truck?) in Vengeance is Mine which is done with a long take. If I recall correctly I remember how powerful (and disturbing) the scene was simply because Imamura decided not to show the murder with rapid editing. It’s a particularly upsetting scene and I’m sure Imamura meant it to be.
I’m unsure if what I said has any merit and I’m just rambling but I recall the scene because it was so distinctly grotesque and I haven’t found anything like it in Ozu, Mizoguchi or Kurosawa.
That’s right, the abolishment of the long take can be regarded as a trend rather than a rule, and filmmakers like Imamura or Oshima wouldn’t have limited themseleves to a single stylistic approach. Especially Oshima loved to play with the demolition of fixed concepts and even made films that were contrary to each other in terms of style. Jonathan Rosenbaum wrote about this:
Oshima’s cinema consists of particular interventions in Japan’s internal political debates, and freely draws on forms as well as styles that seem to come from everywhere, including Japan. Some would call this disconcertingly voracious trait “very Japanese,” and it helps to account for the truism that no two Oshima films are alike. Each new feature critiques its predecessors: After vowing to abolish green from his palette in his first foray into color, Cruel Story of Youth, as a way of refusing any trace of domestic tranquillity, he used green frequently and effectively two features later (without suggesting much domestic tranquillity), in his first truly personal work, Night and Fog in Japan, meanwhile countering the earlier film’s neorealist locations and handheld-camera movements with artificially lit theatrical spaces and smooth if restless pans between characters at a wedding party. Both films are steeped in the dark pessimism characteristic of Oshima’s films of the ’60s. […]
nice work!
Thanks. I’d forgotten how much time I used to spend on this stuff… yeesh…
“It’s interesting that you note long takes as I’ve noticed them in both Oshima’s and Imamura’s films. I recall a particularly violent knife-murder ( The one in the truck?) in Vengeance is Mine which is done with a long take. If I recall correctly I remember how powerful (and disturbing) the scene was simply because Imamura decided not to show the murder with rapid editing. It’s a particularly upsetting scene and I’m sure Imamura meant it to be.”
“That’s right, the abolishment of the long take can be regarded as a trend rather than a rule…”
I guess I’m going to pick up again, even if no one responds…
Imamura’s later work is certainly fraught with long takes. Especially in Violence is Mine, which almost feels Puiu-like in its concentration on long handheld takes, one after the other. And Oshima, too was eminently willing to approach each film with a completely new stylistic approach. One need only compare the 50 some shots in Night and Fog in Japan to the 1000+ shots in Pleasures of the Flesh. Or the fragmentary dialectic in The Man Who Left His Will on Film to the more distanced polemics of Death by Hanging.
But I think the long-take is symptomatic. Early Shochiku master Heinosuke Gosho routinely shot films with well over a thousand shots (which was rare in the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s), while Mizoguchi and Uchida routinely made films with less than a hundred. Montage editing wasn’t necessarily anything new, even when it looked nothing like Soviet-style montage (which Gosho’s work doesn’t), just as (neo)realist-style long-takes weren’t new. In fact, Audie Bock argues the long-take vs. montage style is what led Godard to once call Kurosawa a “second-rate director” in comparison to Mizoguchi.
The real effect is in the conflict in how the elements are used. The long take in Violence is Mine is disturbing because it shows; the long take in Souls in the Moonlight (labeled “25:05-26:17” here) is distant because it doesn’t.
Imamura’s violent scene comes with exposition at the beginning of the film. So the result is a character that reacts, after explaining his already completed action. Uchida’s character acts and then argues that his action should be counted for him.
The world is either actionary towards us, or reactionary in response to us.
“The real effect is in the conflict in how the elements are used. The long take in Violence is Mine is disturbing because it shows; the long take in Souls in the Moonlight (labeled “25:05-26:17” here) is distant because it doesn’t.”
This is a great statement on how to use a long take correctly. There’s an intent meaning in a shot planned out as such and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t.
I recall a particularly effective long take in Death by Hanging, during the scene where the police officers are talking about how awful Koreans are. The scene itself was shot this way intentionally I’m sure because Oshima wanted to confront this issue without cutting (a reaction shot of an audience member comes to mind in a comedy show after a tasteless joke.) It appears to be a rather crude tactic but the refusal of an emotional and intellectual release is denied, lasting until the the scene becomes unbearable, which is entirely the point.
In contrast, I feel that Oshima’s cuts in Violence at Noon were ineffective because the content was never allowed to mature into something specific. He cuts, and cuts, and cuts. The film never matures into something profound as in Death by Hanging or something both depressing and darkly comic in The Ceremony. The film never really amounts to anything because Oshima never bothered to make it appear to be more than a technical achievement.
Ozu, again in contrast, has a rare ability to focus all the emotion of a scene into something specific after a cut (I hear talk about red tea kettles and smoke stacks quite a bit.). It’s a startling effect and something that I’ve rarely seen from any type of cinema from any country. Emotional moments in Ozu films arrive from simple gestures which are then exacerbated by an emotional “push” so it speak. The emotion continues from shot to shot without a release, which I feel is one of Ozu’s greatest strengths.
“Ozu, again in contrast, has a rare ability to focus all the emotion of a scene into something specific after a cut (I hear talk about red tea kettles and smoke stacks quite a bit).”
Hmmm… I was thinking more of a vase…
There’s this constant debate surrounding this vase… To me Hara’s vase gives us more and the vase is meant a reflective tool, but one that doesn’t allow us a ‘release’ from the emotion built in the film.
Ozu is one of the chief formal masters of a country essentially full of them. To paraphrase Richie again, he claims the only time in the studio system that even a mediocre filmmaker didn’t achieve stylistic mastery was by intention (Imamura) to break as many rules as possible.
But that series, again points to the internalization becoming external. Ozu suspends the emotion in Hara’s face (notice the obvious difference in expression in between the first and last shot of the vase) on an object outside of the narrative; of the larger world (a random item in a random inn seemingly for any random reason).
I will definitely check out Uchida’s version after reading this thread. What I gather from this frame comparison is that Uchida’s version looks like it has a more realistic feel. The extreme long shot helps us better identify the historical period through the architecture and traditional ornaments while in Okamoto’s version it feels like the historical and geographical context is not important, the fight itself is what matters and what allows the characters to express themselves. Uchida’s wide angle and long take when Ryunnosuke strikes and kills Bunnojo show the characters moving in a realistic manner while Okamoto’s quick cuts and close ups force the viewer to imagine how fast and powerful his strike was, suggesting that Uchida was focusing on historical authenticity and Okamoto on dynamism/fantasy. Again, this is coming from somebody who has yet to watch Uchida’s version (and is also a borderline film illiterate).
The generational difference key issue is also a treatment of societal matters as well, with roles shifting or becoming more grotesque in Imamura and Oshima films. Someone (maybe it was a MUBI member) once said that Imamura’s character’s were parodies of Ozu’s, which is something I cannot definitively make a conclusion about but I can certainly say the way characters are framed in action varies wildly. The way a face is shot can infer depth or lack there-of and framing. The above shot of Setsuko Hara has everything nescessary in it to create emotion, an entire character is revealed in a face, shot on an even level creating a level of respect (the camera doesn’t not look down on her.) I wonder if later directors found this neutrality to be distasteful simply because they conceived it to portray women neither in a positive or negative light. I myself will dispute this but I cannot shake the feeling that the weakest parts of Ozu’s films are his portrayals of young people, especially women. I’ve sometimes felt that the reservation of their actions mirrored Ozu’s own, unsure what to do in this new era.
I’ve found that this simplicity is missing in the later generations films (most of the time) that lack the quiet detail in favor of action, as was the case with Imamura and Oshima. Women speak openly, defiant of their male counterparts, something which is only suggested with facial movements and body movements in Ozu’s films. I prefer to think of this as a result of a younger generations attempt to remove the shackles of the previous generation’s attitude. The films are not somber, but rather explosive, mixing sex and violence together in a manner unlike any other I’ve ever seen. The beloved male patriarch becomes a grotesque parody in Oshima’s The Ceremony and the responsible son becomes a killer, as in the case of Vengeance is Mine. Woman in particular become more active in the world, having multiple sexual partners and disobeying direct orders from the head of the household.
I make no claim to being an authority on Imamura (I really should see more) but Oshima in particular was influenced by the older filmmakers more than he claims to be. Although no where near the level of perfection Ozu captured, Oshima’s films are incredibly well shot, with the camera placed specifically in a place where it can take in a massive amount of detail. He also captured facial expression well, especially in In the Realm of the Senses.
This scene here illustrates every amount of detail needed to understand the scene.
This shot also is great inference into psyche and is one of the most powerful shots in the film.
The newer generation tried to remove all aspects of traditionalism in their films, but it’s still there, hidden, but certainly present but never as common.
Great thread.
I want to watch that Uchida film now. And I’m going to pay closer attention to these generational issues from here on out.
Wu Yong
How does one judge the differences between generational art? Where are those definitive differences?
Most of us are relatively aware of the rejection of the pre-war filmmakers by the late post-war filmmakers. (And by late I would include filmmakers that began making films in the late 50’s, as opposed to filmmakers like Kurosawa, or Kinoshita that matured in the post-war era, but many times began making work during the war) Content based analysis can lead to an understanding of rift’s in representational modes (i.e., how each ‘see’ society), but what if the content is the same?
Kaizan Nakazato was the writer of the massive 41 volume Daibosatsu Toge. There have been numerous adaptations of this works, but there are two very interesting cases in the latter stages of the ‘golden age’ of the studio system in Japan. First, Tomu Uchida’s Souls in the Moonlight (Daibosatsu Toge), the first part of a trilogy of films made in 1959 for Toei. The second, the more well known in the west, Kihachi Okamoto’s Sword of Doom (Daibosatsu Toge), the first of a never finished trilogy made in 1966. They are interesting comparison points because their biggest variables are the filmmakers themselves (and the colour film stock).
Tomu Uchida began working for Nikkatsu in the mid-1920’s. He eventually left Nikkatsu, joined a Manchurian film production company (that he never completed any work for) and was held as a POW for nearly ten years after the war (his first work after was the masterpiece A Bloody Spear on Mt. Fuji).
Kihachi Okamoto was brought up in the Toho studio system and worked under filmmakers like Ishiro Honda and Mikio Naruse. Though not typically mentioned in the same breath as the polemics Imamura, or Oshima he was definitely willing to explore much darker themes and engage in much harsher criticisms of his home nation (see: Japan’s Longest Day).
So, I’ll use Okamoto’s work as the starting point, because it’s more well-known even though I’d wager to guess Uchida’s version is closer to the source material (but that is purely a guess). The scene I’m going to dissect is the opening battle between Tsukue Ryunnosuke and Utsuki Bunnojo. We should name the main differences that occur in the narrative of the two films so far. In Uchida’s version a few major things alter this event:
1. Ryunnosuke orders Yohachi to kidnap Ohama (Yohachi overall is a much larger character in the Uchida).
2. Ryunnosuke doesn’t rape Ohama, but rather forces her to sit in his barn to consider if what she said about his “inhumanity” are her true feelings.
3. Ryunnosuke meets Shichibei and tries, and fails to kill him (this is important because earlier Ryunnosuke’s father tells him he seems to be degenerating, not an impossible opponent, as in the Okamoto).
4. Ryunnosuke is told of Bonnojo and Ohama’s divorce before the fight.
So, Okatamoto’s version (this is going to be really long):
20:34-20:40; 20:41-20:47; 20:48-20:51
Bunnojo is called
20:52-21:00; 21:01-21:08; 21:08-21:09; 21:09-21:14
Ryunnosuke is called
21:15-21:25; 21:26-21:34
They come to the arena and the judge asks if they harbor no grudges.
21:35-21:40; 21:40-21:42; 21:42-21:44
Bunnojo obviously lies. Ryunnosuke may also, but it doesn’t show on his face.
21:45-22:26 (Longest shot, represented in two screen shots; 41 seconds)
A ritual is observed, and both pray before the match.
22:27-22:28; 22:28-22:29; 22:30-22:36
The fight commences.
Now, for the actual beginning of the fight I’m just going to let you go through this astounding montage instead of interrupting every few shots or so. This section starts at 22:37, ends at 24:28 and is composed of 25 seperate shots.
The fight is called off.
24:29-24:30; 24:30-24:30
A draw is called, and Ryunnosuke is relieved.
24:31-24:32; 24:32-24:32; 24:32-24:33; 24:33-24:34; 24:35-24:37
Bunnojo attacks and Ryunnosuke cuts him down.
24:37-24:44; 24:45-24:49; 24:50-24:55
The judge again states the match was a draw, but Ryunnosuke argues.
24:56-25:14
Ryunnosuke describes how he won after Bunnojo came at him with an illegal move. Emotionless…
25:25-25:18; 25:18-25:19
Ryunnosuke tells the judge to looks for himself and leaves his now dead opponent.
So, that’s an impressive 55 shots in 4 minutes 45 seconds. A 5.18 ASL, but it is important to recognize Ryunnosuke’s self-imposed isolation.
………………………….
Uchida’s version (it’s exactly the same… but completely different):
23:18-23:27
An enigmatic shot of the shrine to be prayed to.
23:27-24:02
Uchida’s shoots the entire ritual opening in one extreme long shot. Ryunnosuke and Bunnojo bow, bend, draw and stand up in a single shot.
24:03-24:20
The match begins and Uchida tracks inward from a long shot on both to a medium shot on Ryunnosuke.
24:21-24:24; 24:25-24:30; 24:31-24:35; 24:36-24:39; 24:39-24:41
Ryunnosuke’s form is recognized and the two face off. The judge’s look of recognition begin to show a sign of worry.
24:42-24:50
Uchida tracks from Ryunnosuke’s unwavering form to Bunnojo’s worried movements.
24:51-24:54; 24:54-24:55; 24:56-24:58; 24:59-25:00; 25:01-25:02
Uchida has been cutting into this fight closer and closer. And this series of static shots exposit upon Ryunnosuke’s careful, studious form and Bunnojo’s nervousness.
25:02-25:03
Here Uchida masterfully tracks inward on Ryunnosuke’s immovability.
25:03-25:04; 25:04-25:04
The judge calls for a draw and Bunnojo attacks.
25:05-26:17
Uchida cuts back after the deed is done. The judge insists on a draw and Ryunnosuke requests a rematch. The judge says that the only option would be for Ryunnosuke to challenge him. He does, and the superior samurai stands up and tells Ryunnosuke to leave. He does.
26:18-26:21
Bunnojo dies.
So, Uchida’s takes the exact same action, but doesn’t fragment it. The overall feeling of the scene is one much more distanced than Okamoto’s. The sequence takes 3 minutes, 3 seconds and is made in 20 shots. A 9.15 ASL, almost double Okamoto’s.
………………..
That’s extremely long, I know, but one must reach a conclusion.
One must recognize that Uchida took three more minutes to come to this scene, even though he cut out the opening fight, and the exchange between Ryunnosuke’s future brother’s in arms for the Shogun. What does this mean?
Also, it would be important to note that, even though Uchida’s version is 2 minutes shorter than Okamoto’s (Uchida is 118 minutes, not 106 minutes as this site says), it comes to Okamoto’s expressionistic conclusion point almost 25 minutes before its own end. What does this mean?
Not just in terms of the formal aspects, but in terms of the approach to every element about this character Uchida pushes back and explores more of his characters, not his world. In Uchida’s version the exploration is of the effect of this character on this world, in Okamoto’s it’s the effect of the world on him. I would point out that Uchida’s cutting suggests movement in everything, in everyone, but Ryunnosuke. In Okamoto’s this character remains resigned to the world and uninterested in it. His only want is to dominate whatever is placed in front of him, and seemingly everyone around ascents to his need.
This is the main difference between generations in Japan’s cinema. Uchida’s generation is one that explores things inwardly to express an outward world, and Okatamoto’s did the exact opposite.